


In This Shirt

by bubblycolfer



Category: Glee
Genre: Brothers, Canonical Character Death - Finn Hudson, Kurt Hummel-Centric, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblycolfer/pseuds/bubblycolfer
Summary: three months later, kurt let’s himself grieve his brothers death
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Finn Hudson & Kurt Hummel
Kudos: 20





	In This Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from ‘In This Shirt’ by the irrepressibles 
> 
> short fic about how i imagine kurt would’ve grieved if we’d actually been allowed to see how it effected him as finn’s BROTHER since we got about 5 minutes of kurt talking about how he felt throughout the whole episode

kurt walks towards the door. it’s closed. has been for three months. carole couldn’t bring herself to go in, and burt didn’t feel like he had the right. kurt just couldn’t. he reaches out, turns the handle, pushes it open. he stands silently in the doorway and just listens. there’s nothing. the tv is thick with dust. the posters on the walls are yellowing from the sunlight, curling at the corners from how long they’ve been up. the bed remains unslept in. nothing has been moved since the day finn died. 

kurt goes to the closet, opening the doors. he stares at the plaid dress shirts, the hand me down sweater vests. he pulls one of finns old hoodies off the hanger and holds it out at arms length. god finn was lanky.  
he yanks it over his head and holds his breath. eyes shut tight. hands clenched into fists. the material feels foreign against his bare arms, the old, worn cotton feeling like a second layer of skin. like protective armour. 

he falls backwards onto the bed and feels the cold duvet mould around the indent of his body. it feels wrong being in here without finn. it feels wrong not having his brother here to tell him that no, he doesn’t need help reorganising his drawers, and no kurt, for the last time, he doesn’t want a makeover.  
kurt hasn’t braved this room in the three months finn has been gone. he doesn’t know what possessed him to do this today, but he’s home alone. burt and carole away in DC. his fiancé out with his friends. and it’s too much. being in finns room, surrounded by finns things, finns scent- it’s too much yet not enough. he pulls the hood up over his head and pulls the drawstrings tight. it’s not fair. 

he stares up at the ceiling. it’s not fair. he flings himself off the bed, hands fly to the clothes in the open closet, dragging shirt after shirt off each hanger, throwing them anywhere he can. he pulls open the desk drawer, rips the contents out and flings it all to the floor. breathing fast, heart clenching, he looks down and sees a photo. it’s the one burt took of him and finn at their first ever friday night dinner. breadsticks. they both look so sullen, so tired. but that isn’t important. finn kept it. he kept the photo that marked the day the four of them became a family. a real one. it’s too much. 

he cant hold himself up anymore. his body gives in to the grief. he drops to his knees. he holds the photo to his heart and let’s go. let’s the sobs rip from his chest. it’s the first time he’s let himself do this. it didn’t feel right before. he couldn’t cry. he wouldn’t. he had to be strong. for everyone, for carole. but now? now is his time. he let’s go. his sobs don’t stop, the tears keep falling. he sounds like a feral animal in pain but he can’t help it. all he can hear are the sounds of his own crying, the blood rushing to his ears, finns voice inside his head. loud and unrelenting and reminiscent. 

he doesn’t hear the footsteps pounding against the stairs, doesn’t feel the presence of someone entering the room and dropping to kurt’s level. doesn’t realise there’s a hand on his shoulder until he’s being pulled into a tight hug, a hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his back and holding onto his arm. he doesn’t stop crying. he curls into the presence, grabbing his shirt and letting go. 

‘that’s it, let it out. i’m so proud of you, honey.’

ten years later, kurt still writes texts to his brother before remembering. he still wears the letterman jacket when he feels down. he see’s his brother in everything. thinks about him with every glass of warm milk he drinks before bed. blaine never comments, just accepts his glass of milk, then heads to bed while his husband curls up on the sofa in the living room and watches ‘where the wild things are’. blaine knows how kurt wishes sometimes he could run away from the responsibility, from the guilt, from the pain. so on the bad days, he lets kurt do what he needs to do. let’s him indulge in the things that remind him of his brother until he’s ready. and when he is, kurt comes to bed: sleepy and warm. blaine waits for kurt to hold his arms out before turning and pulling him close. sometimes, kurt needs to be alone. and that’s perfectly fine with blaine.


End file.
